Unforgiveable
by liebedance
Summary: James Potter is funny and foolhardy and brave and loyal. He doesn't run away from post-battle Order meetings or ignore his best friend's pleas to stay and talk. He doesn't drink alone, in the dark. And he most definitely does not kill people


[A/N: written for amythysth over at LiveJournal]

* * *

The world stops spinning, and James opens his eyes. He knows where he is, and in any other moment the sight of the nearly completed living room would cause him to stop and smile. But he's beyond that, now, and doesn't even notice the new dark red rug on the floor. Without bothering to take off his shoes, James hurries towards the kitchen. He doesn't care that Lily will admonish him for tracking snow onto the wood floor nor does he wonder why she isn't home. Only one thought is in his mind: he needs alcohol. He needs alcohol, and then he needs to forget.

At the front of their small liquor cabinet is some sort of Muggle alcohol that Lily's cousin gave them as a wedding gift. James hasn't had it before and he doesn't know what "vodka" or "80 proof" mean, but he doesn't care. It's the first thing he sees, and so he grabs and pours himself a tumbler.

The first swallow is odd, almost tasteless and nothing like firewhiskey. But it goes down smooth and seems to melt the ice that has formed in his stomach, so he takes another swallow, and another. When the glass is empty, he fills it again and goes back into the living room.

James wishes the alcohol would work faster, wishes that he could just cast a memory charm on himself and forget the entire battle – the lights, the sounds, the blood and the _death_. But he knows that casting _Obliviate_ on himself is too risky, and that he'll fuck it up somehow. But trying to force himself to forget only makes the images come to his mind stronger and more clearly. And so he takes another drink.

It isn't supposed to be like this, James thinks. It wasn't ever supposed to be like this. The dying and the loss… they aren't even twenty, yet. He's only been married for two months and out of school for sixteen. James has never thought of himself as "just a kid" before. But, as he takes another sip of the clear liquid, he realises that's all he is, all they are. They are just a bunch of stupid kids who somehow got tangled in this war.

Only James doesn't feel like a kid anymore. He doesn't even feel like _James _anymore. James Potter is funny and foolhardy and brave and loyal. He doesn't run away from post-battle Order meetings or ignore his best friend's pleas to stay and talk. He doesn't drink alone, in the dark. And he most definitely does _not _kill people.

And, as that thought flies through his mind, James downs the rest of the vodka and rests his head in his hands, willing the memory to go away. Ever since he joined the Order, James had known he'd have to kill someday. But the reality was worse than he'd ever dared to imagine. And even though the alcohol is finally working, it's doing nothing to stop the replay of events.

It hadn't been _Avada Kedavra_. But that doesn't help much. If anything, it makes it worse. The Killing Curse is supposedly quick and painless. The victim doesn't cough up blood as he dies, screaming in pain as his broken ribs jut into his heart and lungs. No, James thinks, a _Reducto_ to the chest should be just as unforgiveable. Because murder is _always_ unforgiveable.

Murder is something that ibad/i people do. Good people don't intentionally hurt others. Even in all his pranking at Hogwarts, James had never purposely hurt somebody. Even Sirius' "prank" in sixth year had been a mistake, and so they'd all let it go. But this… James had _known_ what the result of the spell would be, and he'd cast it anyway. It had been life or death, and James had chosen his own life over his opponent's.

* * *

"James?"

Lily's voice breaks through the deafening silence, but James doesn't look up. He doesn't know how long it has been since he sat down. He can feel the alcohol in his body, but the buzzing in his head is doing nothing for the constricting in his chest.

"For Merlin's sake, James, how many times have I told you to take off your shoes? There's snow and salt all over the pavement, and now we'll have spots on the floor and… James?"

Lily's voice fades, and he hears her set down whatever she had in her arms.

"James?" she asks, suddenly next to him on the sofa, her hand on his shoulder. "Are you… is everything alright? Wait… why are you here? Weren't you going to go out with the boys tonight?"

"Got called to a battle," James answers, still not looking at her. He doesn't want her to see the haunted look he knows is in his eyes, doesn't want her to see what he's done.

"Is everyone okay?" Lily asks, concern lacing her voice. "Sirius? Remus? Peter? Oh, please tell me we didn't lose anyone this time."

James shakes his head. Even in his current state, he knows Lily is running through the list of their friends in the Order, wondering who had been on call today and who may have not made it.

"Small battle," James forces out. "Peter wasn't even called."

He can feel Lily's eyes searching him, trying to glean more information. She can do that, sometimes – discern James' feelings from his stature. But he doesn't want her to know, not this. And he doesn't want to talk about it –something he knows Lily is about to try to get him to do.

"I need to pee," he says, standing up suddenly and swaying as the room tips, off balance, around him. Without waiting for Lily to respond, he turns and half walks, half stumbles, towards the loo.

When he returns, Lily is still sitting on the couch, legs crossed and eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asks.

James doesn't answer her as he walks back to the sofa and sits down, elbows on his knees. He reaches for his glass, and upon realising that it's still empty, holds it in his hands and stares at it.

"You're drunk," Lily states.

James shrugs in response and continues to turn the cup over in his hands. He knows Lily wants to talk, and he knows that not talking isn't doing him any good. At school he'd always been the one to advocate talking about feelings. Sirius had often called him a girl for it, but James had never relented. Listening to Sirius rage had always been better than watching him break stuff. But this is different, and he's afraid. Afraid that if he opens up, the pain that the alcohol numbed will come flooding back. Afraid that Lily will see him differently and realise that, once again, he's beneath her.

"James," Lily pleads, taking the glass from his hands and placing it back on the table, "Please, talk to me. You're worrying me."

"I'm not meant for this," James finally says, and he knows that she knows he means the war. They'd talked about it before, and he'd assured her that they would be okay. Now he isn't so sure.

"None of us are," Lily agrees, reaching out to rest her hand on James' forearm. "But like you said to me this summer, what else are we going to do? We have to keep fighting. People are dying and we have to help them."

"But the Order kills people, too," James whispers, and he finally has the courage to look at his wife. Her lips are pressed together in a firm line and her brows are furrowed with concern.

"Yes," she says slowly, looking fiercely into his eyes. "But we don't do it for fun. And we don't do it, if we can help it."

"I couldn't help it," James breathes. "Today I couldn't help it, Lily."

"Oh, James..." Lily gasps, and suddenly her arms are around him, pulling him close to her. He can feel her shaking as she holds him, but he can't tell if it's from horror or grief, or both.

James doesn't want to go on, doesn't want to hurt Lily more than he fears he already has. But now that he's said it, he can't stem the flow of words coming from his mouth. Whether it's his guilt or intoxication that is pushing him to confess, James doesn't know. And Lily's strong hold on him only pushes him further.

"I don't know who he was, just another faceless Death Eater. And it all happened so fast. We were duelling and there were spells flying everywhere. And then I knew, somehow, that the next spell he cast would be _Avada Kedavra_ and that if I didn't do something, he would hit me. I needed to stop him, Lils. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to kill him. I knew that the spell would, but I did it, anyway."

"He would have killed you," Lily says, not releasing her hold on him. "You had to do it."

"And why do I have that right?" James demands, pushing away from Lily and standing up. "What gives me the right to decide who should live and who should die? One more Death Eater gone, but at what price? How am I any better than them, Lily, if I can kill so freely?"

"James," Lily replies, standing up so that she is facing him again. She lifts her hand to his cheek and runs her thumb along his cheekbone. "James, listen to me. You are not a bad person."

"I killed somebody, Lily," James counters, his voice almost bitter. He doesn't understand how she can look at him so lovingly when he's done something so completely _wrong_. He thinks he should move away again, deny himself the comfort of her touch. But he can't. She's holding him together, right now, and one wrong move will break him into a thousand pieces.

"That doesn't make you a bad person, James," Lily insists. "You see the world in black and white, in good and evil. But life is in shades of grey. Good people can do bad things, and sometimes bad things are the right thing to do. You did what you had to. You being here with me, living to fight another day, that's what is right."

"If it's right," James says, and he's struggling now to control the tears that are welling in his eyes, "then why do I feel so wrong? Why do I feel so dirty, Lily? How can you stand to look at me, knowing what I did?"

"Because you _are_ a good person," Lily says. She lifts her other hand so that it's on James' shoulder and they're standing flush against each other. "If you weren't feeling torn up about this, if it didn't bother you, then I don't know if I'd be able to look at you. But I can feel your pain, James. And I don't think you deserve it. I just want to make it go away."

She tilts her head and brings her lips to his, and James responds eagerly. His lips move against hers as they always have, as though nothing has changed, even though it all has. But James pushes those thoughts out of his mind and becomes consumed, instead, with the taste and smell and feel of Lily. He lifts his arms from where they are hanging limply at his side and pulls Lily closer to himself, needing her warmth.

He moves his mouth from hers and brings it to her ear, nipping gently at the cartilage and eliciting a soft moan of contentment.

"James," she breathes, and that's all the encouragement it takes. He needs this, he needs to forget, and Lily is so much better at making him forget than alcohol is. With one swift motion he directs her to the couch and lowers himself on top of her.

He can feel her chest rise and fall beneath him as he goes to work on her neck, sucking and swirling his tongue against her skin. Lily's hands grip his shoulders as she wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him even closer. His mouth wanders lower, trailing kisses along her collar bone and, not for the first time, he's glad she still opts for Muggle clothing every now and then.

"James, look at me," Lily says. James looks up at her green eyes, so full of want. "I love you, James. And I will _always_ love you. Nothing is going to change that."

With these words, the reality that had faded away comes crashing back. It's suddenly too much for James, and he doesn't even try this time to hold back the sobs. He doesn't say anything, leans back, away from Lily, and falls against the couch.

"We'll be okay," Lily whispers, sitting up and pulling him into a tight embrace. "We'll make it through this."

James doesn't respond; he doesn't know what to say. He clings on to Lily, drawing on her strength as he sobs like a little boy. But he's not a little boy, not anymore. And no matter what Lily says, no matter how much she loves him, what he's done is unforgiveable.


End file.
